Christmas through the years, an essay for the CBC

John Lennon, dead forty years yesterday. Much missed. As I do with my friend Bob Handforth, I often wonder what John would make of this or that in the world. Brilliant men with so much to give, gone far too soon. 

Taught two Zoom classes yesterday; the second one ended with us toasting each other and our year together with wine and cheese. Yes, not together, but almost, close enough for now. I'm sure next year, when we've all been vaccinated, we'll get together but still keep the Zoom component for those who can't make it over. Best of both worlds, no? 

I'm going to start a list: What Brought Me Joy This Difficult Year. Stay tuned. But in the meantime, I sent out several Xmas essays to the student writers yesterday and will post them for you too. One is by Truman Capote, one of my favourite pieces of writing ever, one by a former student, ditto, and one by me. 

So on this dark and gloomy day, here's the essay I read on CBC twenty-three years ago. No idea why the two pages are two different sizes. The mysteries of Blogger.

Loose Woman on the march!

Just checked the Toronto Public Library, and there she is, Loose Woman. Not in hard copy, not yet, but two copies of the eBook are there, and there are three holds already! 

Validation. When it's in the library, the book exists. It counts. 

And a nice mention from the Globe arts reporter, Marsha Lederman, in her weekend column recommending books for the holidays: 

Also two lesser-known books by authors I’ve gotten to know by email: Loose Woman by Beth Kaplan, a memoir that begins with her time working as an actor in Vancouver... 

Maybe lesser-known, but with three holds at the library!

An email from my new friend Trevor in Denmark, a scientist and former student of my father's with whom I've been corresponding:

Read your wonderful book, love it, you shine out of it! In line with a comment on your blog, it sent me back in my own memories to those times. I will buy the book for a few friends who I know will appreciate it. As you likely know already it speaks to all of us from the same generation. It is also very well-crafted.

Thank you, Trevor. "You shine out of it" - now that's good to read. As I wrote to you, "it sent me back in my own memories" is one reason memoir matters: we write for those who don't, to escort them into their own pasts. To help open those long-closed doors.

From Kate Braid, one of the writers at the CNFC Zoom event, after I wrote to tell her I enjoyed her reading:

Thank you for your reading too. It offers a fascinating glimpse. I was very curious about L’Arche for years, and have huge respect for the volunteers – like you – who work there. Your answer to the question of the sexual abuse was very well done, and clear. I look forward to reading your book.

An order from Myrna Kostash, esteemed writer and one of the founders of CNFC, for two books to be sent to her and family in Edmonton. 

And word from the publicist in Vancouver: a request for an interview for "The Breakdown" on SiriusXM. 

These kind words may not be the New York Times bestseller list, but they're very welcome just the same. 

Exhausted - spent the day with my grandsons; we went to the High Park castle playground where I played the big bad wolf again, chasing delicious boys to eat them for lunch. GRRRR! It was freezing. What a wonderful place it is, though.

So, a night of recuperation, emailing, and TV - "His Dark Materials" on now, just my speed. Thank you, friends, for following the ups and downs, oh the downs, of my journey. Sending you love.

Lights in the darkness

Oh Zoom, how did we do without you all those years? What an amazing few days - first, the big event from the National Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Mass., featuring the descendants of famous Yiddish writers: David Mazower the event producer from the Center, Itzik Gottesman from Austin, Texas, and me. It was wonderful. David and Itzik were interesting and vivid; Itzik lives his entire life, it seems, in and for Yiddish. It was a warm and moving encounter. David told me that over 400 people have so far watched so far, live and on the Center's FB page. 

https://www.facebook.com/watch/live/?v=849404005881369&ref=watch_permalin

Watching it afterwards I was horrified to see myself nodding and twitching my lips; there seems to be spotlight shining on my jowls, and my eyes are so squinty it looks like I'm blind. Otherwise, hunky dory.

During our talk I mentioned my father's younger brother, Edgar Kaplan the world bridge champion. Itzik said he was most impressed by my connection not just to my great-grandfather, but to Edgar Kaplan. To those who play bridge, he's legendary. It's a story I must tell, what I know of this extraordinary and brilliant man, who became my best friend during the last decade of his life.  

So Saturday I opened the box in my office marked "Uncle Edgar" - stuff I brought back from NYC after his death. A ton of interesting mementoes including two little looseleaf notebooks his wife Betty kept of their favourite recipes, which includes Edgar's cocktails recipes. He invented cocktails and gave them the names of friends, and Betty wrote it all down. What a gift for my son the cocktail maker! Shh, don't tell him.

And then the Creative Nonfiction Collective's Zoom reading of new books - five writers, hosted by Vancouver's Betsy Warland - again, from around the country, a fascinating collection of diverse voices, reading about a schizophrenic artist brother, a father's war connection with an Indigenous scout, a meditation on Lost Lagoon in Vancouver and on being a woman working in construction ... terrific stuff. 

Phenomenal to sit in my kitchen communing with the world. 

Three more episodes of "The Crown." Does life get better? Poor Prince Charles really does not come off well, though the implication is that the Queen, though well-meaning, was so formal and distant, her children are handicapped for life. 

Today, I got out the Xmas box and dove into the decorations - not ready for the tree yet but did get something up outside. People in this 'hood believe strongly in celebratory lights; usually I just have some hanging from my eavestroughs but Bill who puts them up is MIA. (Though he looks like Methuselah, he just turned 65 and got a government pension which may be why he isn't at my door asking for work. I hope it's that.) Today I got out a structure that's for climbing plants like clematis, wound my lights around it, and put it out. It's perhaps hideous, but ingenious, no? I need a star or something for the top. Also, it is locked to my banister with a bike lock, because otherwise ... things vanish. 

It may be dark and cold, but at old 308, there will be light. 

A bizarre contract from 1948

It's what I call a show day - tonight at 7 I'll be Zooming with the National Yiddish Book Centre in front of possibly a hundred people or more. Teaching days were show days - storing energy for the show, even if that now means just sitting in my kitchen, trying to look smart. 

I wrote here last time that I have a finger that once bent, gets stuck and needs to be snapped out by another finger. Chris wrote to inform me that he has TWO fingers like that. Oh sure, Chris, trying to one-up me as usual! He told me there's a name: stenosing tenosynovitis or trigger finger. It feels good that it has a name. 

So - sometimes rising in the morning with so much back pain that I can hardly walk; swelling knuckles; trigger finger; cracking knees. I think the ears aren't working as well as they could. But when you think of all the moving parts that've been going for 70 years - well, we're doing pretty well, this old bod and I. Not a single complaint.

I have found something bizarre and amazing in my mother's papers: a contract she signed and sent to Dad about their sexual activities, and consent. Have to say, considering it's from 1948, it's amazingly relevant today. It's an official-looking printed document with dotted lines to be filled in - Mum's answers indicated in italics. Barkus was their nickname for Dad's penis (from the line "Barkus is willin'" from David Copperfield) and La Lion(ne) was one of Mum's nicknames. The (more than somewhat) was a joke between them; apparently once Dad said, "I have strong feelings about you," and Mum in her British way replied, "I like you more than somewhat." The Mann Act, originally about prostitution, was used wrongly to prosecute ordinary people for sexual activity. Who knows what else I'll find in these papers?! (Sorry, the ends of sentences are cut off.)

Zoom rehearsals

A new kind of day, in a fresh coating of snow - much happening while I sat in my kitchen, one Zoom rehearsal at one and another at two. The first was for the CNFC event on Saturday, five writers from Vancouver to Toronto reading from their recently-released books. And then a preview from the National Yiddish Book Centre in Amherst, Mass., before the event on Thursday evening, a gathering of the descendants of famous Yiddish writers, an impressively august assembly and, for some reason, me. 

While I write, I'm listening to a Paul McCartney concert from Abbey Road. There's a great new interview with him in the NYT, with his customary self-deprecating sense of humour. 

What happened also was, not having much money, when anything came into the house, it was important. It was important when my weekly comic was delivered. Or my penpal — I had a penpal in Spain, Rodrigo — when his letter came through, that was a big event. When they had giveaways in comics with little trinkets, I kept them all. Some people would say that’s a hoarding instinct, but not having anything when I was a kid has stuck with me as far as money. You know, I’m kind of crazy. My wife is not. She knows you can get rid of things you don’t need.

You’re a hoarder? I’m a keeper. If I go somewhere and I get whatever I bought in a nice bag, I will want to keep the bag. My rationale is that I might want to put my sandwiches in it tomorrow. Whereas Nancy says, “We’ll get another bag.” In that way, my attitude toward money hasn’t changed that much. It’s the same instinct to preserve. One of the great things now about money is what you can do with it. Family and friends, if they have any medical problem, I can just say, “I’ll help.” The nicest thing about having money is you can help people with it.

As a fellow keeper, I love this! I too keep the nice bags. Love the thought of the richest musician in the world wrapping his sandwiches in nice saved bags. Last night, I watched another episode of "His Dark Materials," about Lyra and her adventures in other worlds. In her world, everyone has a daemon - an animal who's a manifestion of each person's soul - a beautiful invention, easily produced on film, now, with CGI tech. And at 4 a.m., as I lay mulling, I thought, I know who my daemon is. Not an animal, but Macca. Mr. McCartney is part of my soul. If something happens to him, I will feel as if part of my soul has been ripped out. 

I know you're snickering. What is this pathetic woman, still 13? Yes, part of me, yes. 70 and still all my loving. And proud of it. 

Looking at my hands as I type - one of my knuckles has started to swell a bit, I guess with the beginning of the arthritis that turned my aunt Margaret's hands into claws. One of my fingers gets stuck bent, and I have to snap it straight with another finger. "Welcome to la viellesse," said Monique, laughing.

Real snow today, but not cold. It looks like my fire stove might happen after all. If it arrives, I will plonk myself down in front of it, as my mother used to say, until May. Or maybe June. 

Links:

https://us02web.zoom.us/webinar/register/WN_YF4B8umYTniqwJPm77nMAA.